Liaison
by vodoodollz
Summary: It wasn't everyday that one saw their girlfriend in the embrace of your enemy... So what do you do? Get together with an enemy of your own? Lime. Ginny/Draco. Harry/Ginny. Due to demand - it's being continued! Snarry. SLASH. Possible SLASH lemon/lime.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: Contains sex scene, underage drinking and God knows what else some people may find offensive.**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the characters or original storyline of Harry Potter and I make no money from this fic.**

**Well, I know I should probably be working on My Dobe, but this came to mind as I sat through a rather interesting lecture on Creative Writing. Damn plot bunnies... **

**My Nomad friend wanted me to try at something I dislike or didn't do much. Well I dislike Ginny and I don't really do het f/m relationships, so here's my attempt. A guess what? No slash... I deserve a cookie for that at least I think, I controlled myself very well.**

**I hope you enjoy this oneshot, please let me know what you think.**

* * *

Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he stared at the sight before him. His eyes watched transfixed as her head was thrown back, long red hair parting to reveal the slightly tanned, naked back that arched in pleasure. Defined arms stretched above her head – one hand coming to clutch at the red hair against her scalp, her face a mask of pure bliss – lips parted. The muscles in her legs clenched on either side of the creamy pale body beneath her as she rose and fell in a rhythm that only they knew. Pale, agile fingers swept across the tensed muscles of her legs and up to the swell of her breast, encircling them before squeezing gentle.

Harry stood frozen as moans and cries of pleasure attacked his ears from the pair of lovers the partially opened door revealed. His startled eyes were wide, as he drank in the sight of his girlfriend arched in total rapture, his mouth opened in disbelief.

It wasn't everyday that one saw their girlfriend riding your enemy's hard cock. Willingly too if the heated clash of tongues, that followed a particularly hard thrust, was anything to go by.

Harry had been pretty sure that this only ever happened in those olden stories, where the King walks in to find his Queen and his right-hand man in an embrace. Like Guinevere and Lancelot. He now felt rather sympathetic towards King Arthur – even if they were in slightly different situations.

A sound startled the teen to turn from the door that led to the Room of Requirements and into the now lit third-floor hallway. (1) His eyes focused onto the looming form of his most dreaded professor, as the man held his lit wand high.

"And what are you doing out after curfew? Hmm..Mr Potter," the tall man said patronisingly as he sneered at the pale and slightly panicked student before him.

He noticed the slightly opened door to the Room of Requirements and raised an eyebrow, glaring at his most hated student, before moving towards the door.

"Y-you," Harry squeaked before clearing his throat and starting again,

"You don't want to look in there Professor."

Scoffing at the boy, he pushed him to the side and pushed the door slightly more opened before standing stock-still at the sight that left Harry standing in the same position moments before.

The two lovers had turned and now Ginny was laying on her back amidst the tangled sheets, legs raised to her chest as her pale, aristocratic lover slammed into her over and over. Wanton cries escaped the red-haired girls lips as Draco repeatedly hit her pleasure spot. His pale blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and his head tilted back – eyes clenched shut as the pleasure ran through his body.

Snape paled drastically – if that was even possible – as he watched his godson and the Weasley chit – Potter's _girlfriend_ – in their embrace.

Getting his senses together, he quickly and quietly shut the door to the couple and turned his attention to his other student. He took in the pale complexion of the normally tanned boy, and his wide panicked eyes. Noticing the slightly quick breathing of the boy in shock and the trembling body looking as if he would collapse at any moment, he let out a soft sigh.

In a moment of sympathetic and rather uncharacteristic behaviour, he softly spoke to the trembling child,

"Follow me Potter."

Leading a totally unresisting and in-shock Boy-Who-Lived down the corridor to the dungeon and into his Private office. He sat the unseeing boy onto the soft, black leather lounge that was seated against the wall behind his desk. Retrieving and warming up a vial of calming potion he coaxed Harry to drink it before heading over to the cabinet on the opposite wall.

Harry, slowly calming down focused on his still trembling hands before looking up at his surroundings before landing on his Potions Professor. He watched slightly shocked as his most hated professor returned with two tumblers of reddish-brown liquid he knew to be Firewhisky, handing one over to him before sitting down in the comfortable chair behind his desk – facing Harry.

"Drink up, it will help warm you," Snape said shortly before knocking back his own shot.

With a hesitant shrug, he knocked his head back and sculled the drink – nearly chocking it back up as the fiery liquid ran a path of fire and heat down his throat. Looking up startled through his coughing fit, he bared witness to Snape _laughing_.

With a smirk towards the wide-eyed boy, Snape refilled his tumbler – and then in an afterthought, Harry's too. Sitting back, he sipped his drink and watched Harry pull himself upright to look him in the eye.

"I'm sure we didn't really need to see that," Snape murmured quietly as he watched the boy pale slightly.

"No, I'm sure we didn't," Harry replied before knocking back his second tumbler of Firewhisky.

Prepared this time for the burning sensation, he didn't end up coughing and spluttering as much as the first time.

Raising an eyebrow slightly, Snape simply refilled the boys tumbler and settled back to get smashed and burn the images from his mind with his most hated student.

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**(1) I wasn't sure what corridor the Room of Requirements was on, and I don't have my books with me to check. This is just a rough estimate, if it's wrong - tell me and I will fix it. This hasn't be beta'd yet.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter; not likely to either.**_

_**Warning: Swearing, under-age drinking, SLASH and fuck; anyone who finds this chapter bad – the last one was worst for Merlin's sake. No flamers welcome.**_

**Ok, seeing that everyone that reviewed was asking for more, I decided to continue with this fic...been deciding just what to do; and have come up blank. So for now I will just go rather randomly and try my best. I'm going through a bit of writer's block for my other fic 'My Dobe' so maybe this might help...or not. I'm also going through a rough patch here at home, and haven't been much in the mood to write. With assignments and exams and family, I'm finding it hard to sit down and write. When I do, it's mostly this other story that won't leave me alone, but leaves me emotionally exhausted.**

**I'll try and make it up to you after exams, maybe sooner. Please enjoy.**

**Well; here goes...**

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Harry groaned a he shifted himself in the – what he now recognised through the fog in his head – armchair he fell asleep in. 'Merlin's-Great-Big-Hairy-Balls my brain is trying to bash it's way out my fucking head.' Harry thought – quite the feat I'm sure, 'I can feel it pounding my eardrums. Anybody get the name of the Hippogriff that ran me over?' Groaning again he burrowed down further into the warmth of the plush armchair – which seemed to thankfully welcome him into his arms.

'Wait – what? Arms?'

Harry turned his head to the right and got a great whiff of sage and musk – an underlying scent of wet grass and rain. It smelt earthy; divine; safe. Blinking, he took in the blurry strands of hair that caressed his face.

Black strands of hair. Not his own – too long for that. Reaching behind him, he almost fell off the edge – if the arms holding him didn't tighten their grip. 'Ok, so I did fall asleep on an armchair.' Harry thought trying to remember who had long black hair in Gryffindor. He felt whoever was holding him burrow softly into his scruffy hair and sigh – the body once more relaxing into untroubled sleep.

Sighing, Harry took in what he could see of his sleeping partner without moving – which wasn't much as all he could see where blurry shapes of colour. He frowned slightly at the rumpled white dress shirt his partner was wearing.

Ok, he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower – no one besides Neville wore dress shirts; which was rarely, and Neville didn't have long black hair. Harry took notice of the flat chest and strong lean muscles in the arms that held him. Ok, nobody had muscles that well developed in Gryffindor Tower either. So it was best to assume he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower. Which given the state his head was in and the position he found himself; it wasn't such a good thing.

'Male, long black hair, white dress shirt, not Gryffindor, well developed, lean – who the fuck is holding me? Better yet; where in Merlin's Beard am I?'

Not getting any answers with his current thinking, he tried to remember what happened yesterday in sequence to this point.

Woke up to Ron and Hermione arguing on how to wake him up, breakfast in the Great Hall – toast with strawberry jam and coffee with enough sugar to be illegal, run in with Malfoy – still a prat and acting like a 7 year old even though we're in our final year at Hogwarts. Ok, then came classes – it was a Friday so he had Transfiguration – finally working on our Animagus forms, followed by double potions – how I managed to get in, I have no idea, before lunch. Ron and Hermione was also arguing again; though they seemed to make up just fine if he remembered right. Ginny was acting a little distracted-

Ginny.

Now he remembered, and he wished he hadn't. Fuck, Malfoy? With Ginny? He felt nauseous and his eyes burned. Groaning he rolled over and dry-heaved over the side of the couch. He felt his partner wake.

* * *

Severus was having a most wonderful dream-that-was-not-a-dream. Hell it wasn't even a dream so much as it was just a colourless blankness with a soft, warm feeling of contentment. It was rather nice, if he said so himself; in which he wouldn't – it just wouldn't sit right with his hard earned Bat-Of-The-Dungeons image he had carefully constructed over the years. Oh yes, it was worth all those years of practice, when he could now have first through to third years wet their pants with just a look. The older ones took a bit more preparation, but it was amusing all the same.

He borrowed down into the warm softness in his arms. It smelt nice; like a warm day just into Autumn when the leaves are just starting to fall. It was a very subtle smell, but in being a Potions Master he picked up the acute sense of smell needed for the job. Sighing contently he was just about falling back into a deeper sleep when whatever he was holding harshly turned around and start dry heaving.

Frowning – his eyes still closed – he slowly worked his way into consciousness. The first thing that came to mind – 'Fuck, I thought I promised myself to never go drinking with Minnie and Poppy ever again. I thought I learnt that lesson when they dressed me in drag after passing out on Minnie's bathroom floor.'

_~Close Severus, so close.~_

Frowning at the sarcastic remark his head, he took in the situation and finally registered the dry heaving and warm body in his arms. Eyes snapping open, he took in the pathetic state of his most hated student laying in his arms, head over the side of the couch, dry heaving over his rather expensive Persian rug.

'Why the thirteen levels of hell did he have Potter in his arms... in his personal rooms.'

_~Well done. Now if you would just think back...~_

Fire whiskey; amusement; the need to burn something out of my mind; suggested obliviates; Har-Potter; vague sense of pity; night patrol; Room of Requirements....

'Merlin's-Great-Polished-Wand. My _godson_ and that-that _Weasley_ chit.'

_~Now we are getting somewhere.~_

He winced sympathetically at another bout of dry heaving. 'Poor guy, he obviously remembered what I just did, I would be where he is now if I didn't have the slight advantage of tolerance to alcohol.' Feeling in a rare comforting mood – he would blame it on the dream-that-was-not-a-dream, the pathetic sight the boy looked, still being slightly drunk, and just living through _that_, he pulled the boy closer to his chest and rubbed soothing circles on the boy's lower back, whispering that it would be alright.

Potter finally stopped dry heaving, only to turn back around in his arms, burying his face into his chest and started sobbing. Wincing, Severus merely held the boy and stayed silent. If Potter was going to turn out in an emotional mess, he would just have to keep an eye on how much he drank next time.

The sarcastic voice in the back of his head snickered.

'Wait. Next time?'

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_TBC..._


End file.
